A Father's Care
by Higuchimon
Summary: One day, the dead awoke. And they were hungry. A man and his son live in the ruins of what once was. For now, anyway.


**Disclaimer:** I own nothing involved in this story unless I invented it myself. This is written for fun, not for profit. All forms of feedback eagerly accepted. Concrit is loved the most, but everything is welcome.  
><strong>Fandom:<strong> Yu-Gi-Oh GX  
><strong>Title:<strong> A Father's Care  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Cobra, Rick  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 3,696||**Status:** One-shot  
><strong>Genre:<strong> Family, Horror||**Rated:** PG-13  
><strong>Challenge:<strong> Written for the 2014 Advent Calendar Challenge, day #19; Written for the Diversity Writing Challenge, section G, #4, a oneshot.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Even though Duel Monsters are mentioned, this is not a canon universe. The game is only a game here.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> [one-shot, Cobra, Rick; 2014 Advent Calendar Challenge; Diversity Writing Challenge, au: zombie apocalypse] One day, the dead awoke. And they were hungry. A man and his son live in the ruins of what once was. For now, anyway.

* * *

><p>"Do you see anything, Papa?" Rick kept his voice down. He knew not to speak too loudly. There was no need to risk attracting <em>their<em> attention. But he needed to know. They couldn't stay out here forever.

His father remained still, staring through the narrow window the shielding on the van provided them. They hadn't always used this; only since the world had gone so strange. It provided better defense, though it wasn't good on speed. That was what Papa said anyway, and Rick trusted him on that much.

In all truth, he trusted his father on everything. Papa was a _good_ dad, and he wasn't going to let Rick get hurt, ever. He'd promised him that so many times, and Rick believed him. That was what all of the rules were for. That was why Rick couldn't leave the house without him, even when the sun was shining and there weren't any zombies lurching about in plain sight.

"It's clear," Papa said at last, sliding open the door in utter silence. He spent hours a week working to make certain that their equipment didn't make any sound at all. Sound could attract zombies. That was the one rule they both lived their lives around: nothing they could do should attract zombies if they could at all help it.

The burly man took one careful step, then another, out of the van, looking all around as he did. Rick knew the drill; just because he hadn't seen anything from inside didn't mean there couldn't be zombies lurking around here anyway. It had happened once. One of their neighbors, or someone who had once been their neighbor before turning into a people-eating monster, lurched at them while they were getting supplies out. Papa had managed to get his gun out in time. He almost hadn't.

As soon as Papa was out of the van, Rick made his own way out, moving as carefully as he'd been taught. Once he was out, he turned back to pull the flat carrier with this week's supplies out. He winced at the small sound of it hitting the pavement and glanced quickly up at Papa.

His father only nodded; some noises were inevitable, he'd said. Couldn't be helped. What they had to do was make sure as few of those happened as possible and be ready if anything turned up because of them.

Rick had learned his lessons well. He didn't move again until the silence stretched out long and painfully. Then, he picked up the handle for the carrier and headed for the door. Papa kept up with him, which wasn't hard. Rick was in great shape for a twelve year old, but Papa was a lot older and a lot more in shape than he was.

Rick handled the keys carefully once they reached the door. He'd locked and unlocked the door every time they left for the last year now. He'd been so proud of himself when Papa gave him the responsibility, glad that he could help like this. Now Papa didn't have to watch for zombies _and_ try to open the door at the same time.

They didn't quite relax once they were inside. That was reserved for the moment after they both checked all the ground floor entrances and made certain there weren't any zombies waiting to pounce from there. Zombies couldn't climb trees, but Papa went upstairs and checked there anyway. He always did. He always did everything he could to keep Rick safe.

While he was doing that, Rick started to unpack the supplies. He knew exactly where everything had to go and what he could take care of himself. The new guns and bullets were Papa's to deal with. Papa had promised to teach him how to shoot soon. He would need to know. This was the kind of world where shooting lessons had taken the place of driving lessons, or so Papa had told him.

Rick didn't entirely remember the world before the zombies. They'd been around five or six years. He'd been with Papa since he was a baby. He'd never asked beyond that. What he remembered of the time before only was made up of going to pre-school and playing with blocks. He didn't think about it a whole lot. There was too much else in the now to worry about, taking care of supplies and watching for zombies.

They would move, eventually, he knew. This was the third or fourth house they'd lived in since the Awakening. That was what people called it; when the dead awoke and took the world by storm.

Papa came down from the second floor and started to unload the guns and ammunition. Those were getting harder and harder to come by, as was food. Yet another reason they would have to move on. No one made anything anymore, at least not that Rick had seen. There weren't that many people around to make anything to start with.

He didn't know what that might mean for the future. Rick didn't think much about the future. It existed as a hazy dream on the horizon, one that he had little control over. So he focused on what he could do, such as taking care of Papa.

"What are we going to have for dinner tonight?" he asked as he put the last of the supplies away. He wondered if Papa would want to go hunting sometime soon. Animals weren't affected by whatever Awoke the dead, so sometimes Papa would go out and hunt down a deer or a cow to give them more food. Every little bit helped.

Papa looked over from where he'd put away the guns. "I think we have enough for soup, don't we?"

Rick's eyes lit up. He loved soup, and Papa had a marvelous recipe that involved all kinds of meat and vegetables. It wasn't often they made it, but perhaps tonight was special. He thought it was but he couldn't remember just why offhand. He'd been too busy helping with their supply run, and Papa hadn't said anything about it either.

"Yes, please!"

Papa reached out and tousled his hair. "I thought you'd like that. Let's get it going."

Rick loved his father more than he could say. He wished there were more people around, just so he could tell them how much he loved him. That was the biggest tragedy of the Awakening in his opinion: not enough people left to appreciate how good Harrison Cobra was as a father.

_I should write all of this down._ Rick liked the thought of that. He wasn't very good at writing, but there wasn't anyone around who'd criticize it. He didn't want to write just to entertain people, though. If the Awakening ever ended and people could die and stay that way, then maybe one day, other people, _living_ people, would find what he wrote and know how great his dad was.

He decided right then and there to get a notebook and some pens the next time they were out getting supplies. Maybe more than one notebook. The people who weren't around yet were probably going to need to know a lot of things.

* * *

><p>Rick had something on his mind. Cobra knew his son and could read him like an open book on many occasions. This one wasn't much different. He knew Rick was thinking about something, and thinking a lot about it, but just what eluded him, for now at least.<p>

He didn't worry about it. If it was something that pertained to their survival, Rick would tell him. Cobra made certain long ago that Rick knew to tell him if he felt bad or if he'd seen something that could possibly lead to a zombie attack. So whatever it was, that wasn't it.

Zombies. Cobra still couldn't entirely believe that had happened in the first place. No one knew how; the dead had been peacefully dead at one point, and the next, they'd gotten up and begun to eat the living, and the living who died like that got back up and started to do the same thing themselves.

He still considered it a miracle that they'd escaped the first wave, given that at the time, they'd lived less than two streets away from an old cemetery. Anyone buried there who still had meat on their bones dug themselves out of their graves and came looking for something to eat. Or someone. They'd all learned quickly that these zombies weren't very particular.

Dwelling on the past was a very bad idea these days, when keeping one's focus on the present could be all that would keep one alive. So he let the memories slip away and continued to work on his favorite soup, taught to him by his mother. It was a Cobra family recipe, and he planned to teach it to Rick one day, when the boy was a little older. He would learn how to shoot before he would learn how to cook. That was the way of the world now.

He glanced over his shoulder to where Rick busied himself setting the table. Dinner would be ready soon, and he had a special surprise waiting for Rick afterward.

Surprises that weren't unexpected zombies tended to be good, especially when it was a boy's birthday.

* * *

><p>Two bowls of soup later, each one cleaned down to the dregs, and Cobra leaned back as Rick busied himself washing the dishes. He didn't have to, but the boy liked to make himself useful in any way that he could. He couldn't do all of the chores, but he did enough of them so that Cobra could keep his own major focus on the upkeep of the house and defenses. It worked out fairly well.<p>

What he wished most of all was that they could find somewhere to live with other people who could be trusted, preferably ones with children around Rick's age so the boy could have someone to play with. His son was far too serious for his own good in Cobra's opinion.

Sadly enough, he knew that any children would probably be like that now. Laughing and playing in the sunshine belonged to a time when the dead slept.

"Rick," Cobra called out, and the boy turned to him quickly, curious as a kitten. "Look over there." He gestured toward one of the cupboards, one that had never been used for food storage. Rick always knew to avoid the ones that weren't specifically for food, which made those excellent hiding places.

The box Rick pulled out wasn't especially heavy and he brought it over to the table with a furrowed brow. Cobra indicated he should look inside, and watched as his son's eyes lit up at what he found there.

"Really, dad?" He pulled out a small gun, unloaded – Cobra had checked it four times before putting it in there – and cradled it carefully. "Is it for me?"

"Of course. I promised I'd teach you to shoot, didn't I?" It was a skill that needed to be taught. He wouldn't be there for his son forever, as much as he wanted to think it would be different. He didn't think zombies would get him. But there were always accidents, and the more Rick knew about taking care of himself, the better.

He wished that he could've put the dueling cards in there that he knew Rick would've wanted. His own deck remained with those other possessions that he didn't need but didn't want to get rid of, and likely would never get used again. There was never time for a friendly duel, nor a person he could duel against. He somewhat missed it, but not enough to try to find someone who knew the game anymore. Some things remained in the past, no matter how much it might be wished differently.

The gun was small and he didn't think anyone had used it before, but he'd made certain that it could fire before he'd made up his mind on giving it to Rick. He'd cleaned it and gathered a respectable amount of ammunition, as well as blanks to be used during target practice. Live ammo couldn't be wasted, when there was no way to reliably replace it.

That was one lesson he'd learned fighting against humans that held even truer against zombies. At least with humans there had always been the chance that they could restock eventually. Zombies didn't give people that chance.

Rick handled it carefully, just as Cobra had taught him to do. While he hadn't had any shooting lessons, weapon safety had been a part of their lives since Rick could toddle. He refused to see his son hurt because he didn't know something basic about how to take care of the weapons that took care of them.

"When can we start?" Rick wanted to know. Cobra stood up.

"Right now." The sooner, the better. He doubted that Rick would be any kind of expert at this in just a few hours, or even a few days. Not unless he was a natural, and even then, he would need experience to truly become great at it. Sad as it was to think, he would get that experience, whether he needed it or not.

* * *

><p>Rick was not a natural. He could aim decently enough but his shots never hit dead center, and he still couldn't keep himself still when the gun fired. But that would come with time and patience, and Cobra would be there to watch his back until he could.<p>

Headshots were what he needed to learn, because that was the best way to put a zombie down for good. There were other methods, but Rick wasn't strong enough yet to handle a knife or a bow. Cobra considered giving him some training in those once he grew a little older, but for now, the gun would work. If nothing else, he would be able to slow any attacking zombies down, if not actually finish them off.

When he wasn't teaching Rick how to shoot, Cobra spent his time either trying to get in touch with other people, or searching for a new place for them to live. They'd cleaned out this area more or less completely in the months they'd spent there, and new foraging grounds needed to be found before their supplies ran out.

Getting in touch with others was the hardest part; the radio didn't always work and when it did, there weren't always people out there to talk to. And when there were, they didn't always stay, for a number of reasons. Sometimes they got eaten by zombies. Sometimes they just vanished. Cobra hadn't made up his mind on which was worse.

* * *

><p>"We're moving?" Rick brightened a little at that news. A new place meant new things to see and maybe even new people to meet, if they were lucky. The last new people they'd met hadn't lasted very long before Papa had had to put them down.<p>

"That's right. There's supposed to be a group of survivors two towns over," Papa told him. Rick nodded fiercely and started upstairs to get packed. New places always thrilled him, even when they ended up much like the old places, empty of food, empty of people, and full of zombies, moving or not.

It didn't take long to get everything they needed packed into the van. They didn't always take everything with them, just what food hadn't spoiled, their clothes, guns, ammo, and a few other odds and ends. This time, Rick packed the notebooks he'd been writing in – he still hadn't shown them to his dad, wanting to save it for a special time – and his gun. Everything close to his heart.

Rick settled into the passenger seat, seat-belt fastened, and with his gun on his lap, ready for anything. All the windows were rolled up and the door locked. Papa got the van going and they headed down the street. Over the course of their time here, they'd kept the streets around them as uncluttered as they could, for ease in driving when they got supplies. The farther away they got from their old place, however, the more difficult it became. When the world broke down, people left cars and trash in the streets, and now they had to maneuver around all of that.

This trip would've taken perhaps a couple of hours at the most once upon a time. Now it would likely take them a couple of days, thanks to cars in the road and having to keep an eye out for any roaming zombie mobs. Rick tried not to let it show, but he kind of looked forward to killing his first zombie. He knew his papa wouldn't want him to get all jumpy and maybe shoot someone who wasn't a zombie. He didn't want to do that either. His papa had taught him better than that.

* * *

><p>The first day of travel passed more or less quickly, given what they had to work with. The farther they got out of town, the less cars were on the roads and the more ground they could cover. Before it got too dark, Cobra stopped and they made camp, which in this case meant parked the van where they had plenty of room to see if anyone came up to them and broke out the preserved foods and canned drinks.<p>

Cobra made certain Rick got to sleep before he did, and spent an hour or so simply watching his son. _You're going to grow up,_ he promised the sleeping child. _This will be a different world when you're my age._

He knew that he had no real way to keep that promise. But he was going to try his best anyway.

* * *

><p>It happened the next day. They still had hours to go until they reached their destination, but certain facts could not be ignored, and among those facts was that everyone needed a restroom break now and then.<p>

"I think we should look into upgrading to a mobile home the next time we get a chance," he muttered as he stopped the van in a vacant area and started to get out. "Then we wouldn't have to do this." A mobile home would have bathroom facilities of its own, which would make this so much simpler. "Rick, stay in the van. I'll be right back."

Rick nodded at once, and Cobra headed off behind the nearest stand of trees to take care of business.

* * *

><p>Rick fidgeted just a little as he waited for his dad to come back. He hadn't wanted to say anything but he could use a little time behind the bushes as well. <em>I promised I'd stay in the van. I can wait for him to come back.<em>

He twitched. He fidgeted more.

No, he couldn't.

He had his gun. He would hurry and do what he needed to do, and be back before his dad knew he was gone. He unlocked the door and slipped out, keeping his gun in one hand, and looked around. So far, so good.

The nearest set of bushes that his dad hadn't gone to wasn't too far away. Rick left the door open; he knew it was against the rules, but he knew he wouldn't be gone all that long, and if Papa did come back first, then that would tell him that Rick was out there somewhere. Sometimes you could break the rules for a good reason.

It only took him a minute or so to take care of everything. Just as he started to turn back, he heard a low growl not that far away. Raising his gun, he began to look toward it, hoping it was just a wild dog or a feral cat.

The growl came again, closer this time, and Rick realized it came from behind him only a few seconds too late. He screamed as the zombie, which had been lurking in the bushes perhaps ten feet away, raced toward him, mouth open. He raised his gun, hands trembling as he realized there really was a man-eating undead thing coming at him and he wanted to shoot it, he knew that he should shoot it, it was right there, and -

The gun went off. Rick screamed. He screamed for a long time.

* * *

><p>Cobra's head snapped up the moment that he heard the gunshot and the scream. He'd heard Rick opening the van door; he hadn't gone far enough that he wouldn't. He knew Rick wouldn't do that without a good reason, so he'd held judgment until he could get back and find out what it was.<p>

But that scream told him more than he wanted to know, and he barely took the time to zip up before rushing along to where it came from, gun in hand. He saw the zombie first and didn't even pause to think, only aimed and fired. It fell back from the twitching form on the ground, and he stumbled over there, heart pounding.

"Rick? Rick?" Let him have been in time. Let Rick's shot have at least protected him. This could not have happened.

He ignored all the evidence that it had. Blood. Too much blood. He didn't care about the tears coursing down his cheeks, or that he'd dropped his gun to the side. A hundred zombies could've come moaning up and he would have let them do what they pleased, so long as they let him hold his son.

"Papa..." Rick moaned, and Cobra didn't know if his son knew he was there or not. He wanted to think otherwise. But as Rick's grip slipped at first, one hand dropping down, he knew it didn't matter.

He also knew what was going to come next. He breathed in and waited. He didn't reach for his gun, or for Rick's, which he could see glittering in the sun a little ways off. If there was ever a zombie that he couldn't kill, this was that zombie.

Rick's eyes opened. There was only hunger in them. Cobra smiled through his tears.

"Hello, son," he murmured.

**THE END**

**Notes:** I kind of feel like I should apologize to Cobra and Rick, honestly. But I was all set to write a standard angsty fanfic for the prompt and then this idea hit me and I wondered "should I write something that could be even more emotionally devastating for Cobra?" And as always, the answer is "yes."

Also, I may write other stories set in this GX zombie universe. I've had one in mind for Ryou & Shou for _ages_. They won't all end like this, though. At least, I don't think they will. I can't promise anything. Zombies are hard to give a happy ending to. Not that it's impossible. Just...difficult.


End file.
